Yes, My Lord
by nachalainne
Summary: Joining the Death Eaters isn't easy, and Lucius knows it. A minor canon joins the ranks, but at what cost?


"You're coming with me." Lucius flicked his wand idly in Tristan's direction, expression blank as the other man jerked bodily towards him, legs ripping out from underneath him.

"God dammit, Lucius! Stop!" His hands clawed feebly at the non-existent chain around his neck, knowing it was as futile as attempting to defend himself with his wand. "I'm going, you don't have to force me."

Lucius could've rolled his eyes as the thought, but released him nonetheless. "Then get up. We're leaving now."

"Now, but it's the middle of the f—" Tristan stopped short as Lucius's wand leveled threateningly at him again. "Coming… Christ." Trudging back to his bed he grabbed his trousers, pulling them on quickly before his dorm-mate decided that more chaining was in order. Snatching a shirt from his closet and his wand from the table, he turned around. "Ready." The bitterness at being forced out at night radiated in his tone.

The tiniest smirk twitched at the corner of Lucius's mouth.

Seconds later, Tristan scraped feverishly at his tongue, choking on the fountain of soapy bubbles that spilled from his mouth. Only after he had fallen to his knees, coughing and gagging at the relentless cleaning, did Lucius bother to take the spell off.

"Now that you're clean: get dressed."

Tristan did so, immediately and in silence. Drawing on his robes, he turned again, asking with his eyes, rather than vocally, if his attire was appropriate.

Satisfied with his apparel, Lucius stalked out of the dormitory, breezing through the emptied common room to the door. A single tap from his foot was all it required for Tristan to sprint from one end of the room to the other, tucking his wand in the pocket of his cloak.

"Keep it out. You'll need it."

Tristan's stomach rolled over.

Bellatrix stamped her foot impatiently, eyes rolling up to the black sky as she waited. Rodolphus was meeting her here, with their charge, before bringing him into the circle. Only certain people were permitted to apparate directly into the graveyard, and this particular man was no longer one of them. A quiet pop dissipated the stillness, and her mood. Two figures leapt into view in front of her, both cloaked and masked, albeit differently.

"Bel?"

"Here."

Roddy turned, one hand wrapped around another figure's collar. Bound by rope at the wrists, and face obscured by a shapeless black bag, the man hidden beneath shook with fright, though the wand pushed sharply into his side could potentially have been at fault.

"Are they here?"

"Not yet. We're first."

"Good." He stepped forward, iron fist clamped so tightly on the other man's collar that he had no choice but to move forward or fall, and falling, it was assumed, would be reprimanded by something more severe than sore knees. He responded accordingly, moving the moment he was going on. Bella, smirking maliciously all the while, followed behind, wand hand flexing as she itched for an opportunity to turn it on the unknown man.

Ahead of them, a circle of similarly cloaked people stood in a broken circle amidst a series of tombstones. In the centre stood one man, if he could be called that, for he only faintly resembled anything that could have at one point been considered human.

"Ah, Bellatrix. Rodolphus, at last…"

Bellatrix swept through to the centre of the circle, kneeling and kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes. "Master," she whispered, backing away before standing straight and taking her place.

"Bring him in, Rodolphus."

Roddy, who had remained outside the circle, took a step forward, pulling his victim along. The man beneath the black bag remained immobile, paralysed by the snake-like quality of the voice that spoke. A fierce tug on his collar broke through his trance, and his previously subjugated attitude. With a frightened cry, he lunged backwards, away from the circle and the voice that had terrified him, but his efforts were pointless.

With brute strength, Rodolphus pulled him back again, holding him up as his legs gave out and he crumpled to his knees. Only after the figure began to writhe in his grip did he let go, letting him fall to the ground where he screamed, shaking viciously in the grass.

The group looked on in silence. Voldemort smiled as he watched.

Lifting his wand and the curse, Rodolphus looked up, silently asking permission to bring his victim into the circle again. Voldemort nodded in response and Roddy walked forward, magically dragging the groaning man along behind him. Like Bella, he, too, kneeled, pressing his lips to the hem of the Dark Lord's robes and backing away. He took his place next to Bellatrix without a word.

"We await only our final guest—" The man on the ground flinched again at Voldemort's voice. "And then, Avery, you shall discover why you have been brought here in such a manner."

The second they were free of the castle's gates, Lucius's hand shot out, snaking around Tristan's neck and dragging him closer as he spun, apparating them both into the graveyard, just outside the circle. Whereas Bellatrix and Rodolphus had given the group a respectable distance, Lucius's feet hit the ground inches away from an opening in the group, where he remained, standing straight.

"There we have it. Welcome, Lucius…"

"My Lord."

"Bring him in."

Lucius pushed Tristan roughly through the gap, into the centre of the circle where he stumbled, flailing to keep his feet. Green eyes wide, he searched the expressionless masks that surrounded him as Lucius paid homage in a similar manner to both Bellatrix and Rodolphus. No one in the graveyard, except the man in the black bag and Tristan, missed the way Lucius knelt only on one knee, and lifted the hem of Voldemort's robes to his lips, rather than kissing them as they were, on the ground. Standing, he retreated to the opening where he had entered, closing off the circle in all but one place.

"Very well. Welcome, my loyal servants." A murmured reply echoed around the group.

"Welcome, Reinleigh Avery." Tristan's eyes would have narrowed if he wasn't so focused on not pissing himself. Instead he nodded, forcing himself to swallow, and reply as he had heard Lucius do with a shaky "my Lord." He could have sworn he heard the sound echoed from the figure at Voldemort's feet.

Voldemort smiled, pale lips peeling back into something that better resembled a sneer. "So eager… you have been brought here because you have been deemed worthy to enter the service of Lord Voldemort." Tristan watched him carefully, listening with baited breath. The figure on the ground shifted, bagged head inclining towards the sound of the voice for once, rather than away from it. "Pending a trial of your loyalty, of course." Tristan nodded.

"Very well." Voldemort's smile widened, becoming if anything more sinister. "This man—" he indicated the person on the ground, "—is a traitor to me, and to our cause. To prove your loyalty, you must kill him."

Tristan froze, eyes locked on Voldemort's through no free will of his own. The way the Dark Lord surveyed him, Tristan felt as if his head had been cracked open and all its contents spilled on a rock for all the group to see. After what felt like eternity, the feeling vanished, and he quickly averted his gaze.

Voldemort's hand appeared, long, thin fingers clutching a bony white wand. The barest trace of a flick made the bag vanish, revealing the face of the man in question for the first time. Looking down, Tristan could have sworn he was looking into a mirror, thirty years into the future.

The man on the ground spoke first. "S-son?" Those uncannily similar green eyes were filled with fear and regret as they stared up at his teenaged child, looking back at him, completely expressionless.

"Well, Reinleigh?" Voldemort's high voice broke the trance they had both sunken into. "Or perhaps you prefer Tristan? Though after tonight there shall be no senior to command your name… so you may go as you choose."

Tristan looked to Voldemort again, eyes unfocused and slightly to the side, rather than looking directly at him. The worry on his face was conveyed well enough, regardless.

"Do not fear. All those who serve me shall succeed. You know the words."

A dark voice whispered in his head "Avada Kedavra". Looking down at his father, he raised his wand. He'd been clutching it tightly from the moment they had left the dormitory. Reinleigh Sr. stared up at him, expression pleading. Slowly he sat up, leaning towards Tristan.

"S-son, d-don—" He never got the chance to finish. A brilliant green flash lit his face, sinking into his forehead just between his eyes. His lifeless body crumpled.

"Well done… my child." Tristan turned to Voldemort, the faintest hint of a smile on his face. Voldemort responded with a ghostly smirk. "Now, give me your arm."

Sinking to his knees, Tristan answered: "Yes, my Lord."


End file.
